


Bed & Breakfast

by AvaKelly



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bed & Breakfast, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, First Kiss, First Meeting, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Meet-Cute, author is hopeless, bucky can bake like no one, clint barton - Freeform, clint has pretty eyes, romcom style story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6774610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky rents a tux for Steve's wedding and finds a ring in its pocket. He sets off in search of the ring's owner, but finds a place he never wants to leave. [<a href="http://perawwlta.tumblr.com/post/142452498654/another-prompt-i-rented-out-the-same-tux-that-you">source & inspiration</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed & Breakfast

"C'mon, Buck, hurry up!" comes from behind the curtain covering the entrance to the dressing room.

Bucky grumbles, shucking off his sneakers and undoing his belt. He eyes the tux hanging on the rack warily. He really hates renting clothes, but... he sighs, pushing his jeans down and grabbing the pants of the suit.

He's still thoroughly confused. Mere hours ago, Steve and Sam have barged into his room, announcing, out of fucking nowhere, that they're getting married. At noon today!

How! Why! Sam's been sleeping on their sofa for months now, but Bucky hasn't even noticed the two of them... on second thought, he doesn't remember seeing the mountain of blankets on the couch since December.

"Ah, James, you moron," he mutters to himself as he buttons up the crispy white shirt.

Well, Sam's awesome and Bucky couldn't have wanted for a better man for his best friend. He just wishes they'd given him a little heads up.

"Before we're old and in need of Viagra, Barnes," Sam yells from the other side.

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky returns.

He shoves his feet into the dress shoes Sam's lent him, then shrugs the coat on. Well, the tux fits him nicely, even though it's a little tight. But it has smooth lines, works well with the skinny tie he's chosen, because he'd rather eat raw glass than wear a bowtie.

Bucky pats himself down, rolling his shoulders to see if he's in danger of popping a stitch when he feels a bump in the pocket. A short rummage reveals a folded piece of paper and a wedding band. The paper is crumpled, as if someone's been holding onto it too tightly, and before he knows what he's doing, Bucky's already read the letter.

> _Clint,_
> 
> _This is not working out. You're not what I want. I thought that maybe you'd grow the fuck up, but buying that run down B &B without telling me is really the last straw._
> 
> _We're done._
> 
> _Don't call._
> 
> _Brock._

Bucky's heart twists with that familiar pang of hurt at the sight of the paper in his trembling fingers. The ink is stained, as if flecked with water, but Bucky knows better where those came from.

"Everything ok in there?" Steve's voice drifts through and the worry in it startles Bucky enough that he pulls his attention to the present.

No need to linger in the past, it's been four years already. So what if the name on the letter is the same as... so what if it sounds exactly like...

But he shakes it all away, pockets the paper and the ring before making his way out.

Steve looks so happy that it brings a smile to Bucky's lips as well.

~

"You'll be ok?" Steve asks for the millionth time and Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, go have your honeymoon. Got my backpack and all," he waves at his car.

Actually, it's Steve's car, but Bucky's taking it while the other two use the apartment they share for some alone time. They need it, especially since none of them can afford paying for a vacation somewhere else. Bucky just hopes they don't fuck on the kitchen table. Ah, hell, who cares anyway. The way they look at each other... Bucky misses having someone who cares in his life. Maybe it's time to try again.

"If you need anything--" Steve starts, but Bucky waves him off.

"I'll be fine. Gonna take a trip up north, stay in a few cheap motels. Already called Tony and told him I'm taking time off from the coffee shop. He wasn't happy, but it will be nice to sleep in for a change," he grins and Steve laughs. "Cover my shifts, ok?"

"Ok, ok," Steve nods while Sam's arm snakes around his middle.

Bucky shoos them off, wishes them a good time, before he gets in the car and returns to the rental place.

It never even crosses his mind to give the ring and the letter to whoever owns the place, let them deal with it. No, Bucky has this dire need to see the guy with his own eyes. Maybe tell him that the sorrow will dissipate, but it will take time, so to hang in there.

The kid behind the counter looks at Bucky like he's suddenly shooting money out of his nose when Bucky asks about who rented the suit before him and where he can find that person.

Motherfucker.

But he spares it no second thought before he pulls out the watch from his backpack. The one Brock gave him, which Bucky's been holding on to only because it's a fucking expensive watch and he might need to pawn it for rent one of these days.

~

So the guy who rented the tux before is named Clint Barton, it was about eight months ago, and the address he gave is in a small town north of the city, right where the first vineyard hills start rolling over the landscape. It's a pretty place, Bucky's been there before, but it's also outside the tourist traps, so it might not be the wisest choice of investment.

The drive there takes Bucky two hours instead of one only because he avoids the freeway and crawls at the lower speed limit. He's been wondering what he'll say when he gets there, but so far his mind is blank. By the time he parks in front of the gate, he's no closer to finding his words, the ring hanging heavy in the pocket of his jeans.

It's afternoon, the late May sun already dipping toward the west, casting a warm glow over everything. The house has two stories and an attic, looks rustic enough, but also as if it's drawn out of a fantasy novel, with a wooden porch running around it, a spatter of river stones marring its facade. There is a garden in front of it, with four willow trees, their trunks thick with age, their branches hanging down all the way to the stone path meandering through them. It's almost like a fairy house, and Bucky's heart jumps with longing. It's the sort of place he'd happily spend the rest of his life in, even though the paint on the low fence is peeling off, even though grass is overgrown in the garden, even though the roof could use a fix and one of the gutters still hangs at an angle.

"Hey there, can I help you with something?"

"I wanna stay here," Bucky returns before he realizes what he's said.

"We're not open," comes back.

Bucky looks toward the origin of the voice. Behind one of the willows, a guy is kneeling on the ground, trowel in one hand and a plant bulb in the other. His short hair's sticking up every which way, his t-shirt's ripped at the hem and streaked with dirt, but his eyes. His eyes, bright with the most raw green Bucky's ever seen, that shifts into violet as he looks at Bucky up and down.

"Well, I mean I could fix you a room if you don't mind the mess in the others," the man adds, rubbing the back of his neck with the plant. "Aw, flower," he says when he realizes what he's done.

But the bulb is unharmed and he lowers it carefully to the ground.

"I'll give you a discount," the guy then says, turning his attention back to Bucky.

"I love discounts," Bucky throws and that earns him a grin.

"Well, the boiler's been rebelling, so there might not be hot water either," he adds with a grimace.

Fuck, his face is so expressive, Bucky's knees almost go week.

"I can take a look at that," he says, and the guy's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Bucky clears his throat. "For another discount?" he adds with a wince.

Very smooth James, he chastises himself. Very smooth.

The man's eyes squint with suspicion and Bucky raises both hands.

"I was an engineering major," he says in his defense.

A beat, and the guy shakes his head with a laugh. "Nah, 's fine, it will behave. Hopefully."

Bucky's stomach flops with it, but he doesn't have time to linger on it before the man stands and walks over.

"I'm Clint," he says as he removes his gloves and extends a hand.

"Bucky."

Clint's hand is warm as Bucky shakes it. He feels like he's floating.

"Welcome to Hawk's, Bucky," Clint returns with a wave to the peeling sign that hangs over the entrance, right above the roof of the porch. "Come on, I'll show you up."

~

The bedroom is modest, but it's clean, and so is the bathroom down the hall. The sheets look new, the mattress is soft, even though the furniture has seen better days and the wallpaper is cracked in more than one place. But it gives the place an old, wise look, and Bucky feels incredibly comfortable in it.

Dinner is instant mac and cheese with a cheap beer. Clint apologizes four times before Bucky convinces him to stop.

"You're my first guest," Clint tells him when they walk out the back with their drinks.

Ahead, there's a patch of trees in the valley, then the green of a vineyard stretches beneath the dark blue of the twilight. Out here the stars are visible and Bucky leans his head back from where they sit at one of the two tables set up in the back yard. They aren't ready for guests yet, twigs and branches and pebbles everywhere under the large oak to the side of the house, but Bucky can see it in his mind, cheerful breakfast shared at these tables in the summer, kids running around the winding shrubs that fill the rest of the space under the long suffering sighs of their parents.

Maybe this is what he's been missing. A sense of purpose. Caring for others. Caring for this place... oh. He's such an idiot. Bucky shakes his head before he makes a fool of himself by blurting something really inappropriate.

"So you're an engineer, huh?" Clint asks, leaning back in his chair.

"Nah, dropped out before I could graduate."

That earns him raised eyebrows and a wide eyed look. "What happened?"

And right about here is where Bucky usually stops talking. He'd rather not relive this. But there's something about Clint that pulls at him, something that makes him feel like a normal human being, not a walking disaster that failed at life before he even turned twenty five.

"Met this guy in college," he says. "He dumped me two weeks before the wedding. I was in my last year, but didn't recover after, then never went back."

He shrugs, just as Clint's face falls.

Ah, fuck. Fuck.

Bucky's been dumped like that, but Clint's been left at the altar. Another pang twists his insides, and Bucky should say something, but all words are stuck in his throat, refusing to form on his tongue.

Clint licks his lips before he takes a swig out of his drink.

"That sucks, man," he rasps, sliding lower in his seat. "I grew up in the circus. Never even been to highschool."

"You're kidding," Bucky returns.

"Nah," Clint stretches his legs, fingers dangling over the wooden armrests, and Bucky watches them for a while. "My dad died when I was little, left us in a world of debt. So mom had to sell everything. All she had left was a suitcase, me, and my brother. A circus caravan picked us up and let us tag along 'cos mom was a teacher and she could do the books, too." He grins then, eyes sparkling in the low light. "I performed for half my life, the Amazing Hawkeye," and he extends an arm, mimics pulling a bow string with the other. "Never missed."

"Wow," Bucky returns, thoroughly impressed.

"Then some scout found me and I modeled for a while. They really liked my eyes. Not the rest of me, though," he waves at himself. "But is how I managed to buy this place," he finishes, tipping his head toward the house behind them.

"You did better than me," Bucky smiles.

Clint rolls his eyes, but the grin is still there, like he's pleased with the praise.

"Why don't you go back to get your degree?" he asks.

It makes Bucky shake his head, and he catches himself curling his shoulders in protectively at the last moment. "I was on scholarship, can't afford to go back now. I work at a coffee shop downtown."

Clint nods like he gets it. Fucking money.

"Aw, look," Clint says, pointing to the distance. "Must be a birthday or something 'cos they brought out the fireworks."

Sure enough, the sky lights up with colors, far away near the horizon, between the crests of two hills.

Silence settles between them as they watch. It's peaceful, the air clean, the night quiet with the rustle of leaves, and Bucky feels like he's been here since forever.

Later, when he crawls into bed, he remembers the ring and the note, but they're like distant memories of a different life, muffled and far away.

~

Breakfast is plain coffee with crackers and Clint promises to run for groceries as soon as his delivery gets here. He's been waiting for an order of paint and wood paneling for two days now. So Bucky offers to go instead. He has no plans anyway.

The town is small, but Clint's directions were to the point, and soon Bucky returns with everything on the list, except the store muffins Clint requested. Hah. Those aren't muffins. Bucky's eyed a new stove in the kitchen already, he'll make some from scratch. The clients at Tony's seem to love his baking, and he really likes doing it. There's order in recipes, but they also leave room for fantasy and Bucky adores it.

The delivery never gets here, but a light summer rain does catch Clint while he's in the front garden. He's got mud everywhere, even in his hair, so when the boiler refuses to provide hot water, he relents and shows Bucky to the basement.

Bucky counts it his lucky day when he finds the culprit, an electric valve that's malfunctioning. Bucky switches it to manual and opens it enough that the water is properly hot without overheating the piping. Still, Clint needs to call someone in to change the thing, this is just temporary. But Clint is so impressed that it kinda makes up for the feelings of inadequacy Bucky's been under every time he has to tell someone he never finished college.

For the second night in a row, Bucky goes to bed forgetting about why he came here.

~

"Let me help you carry those inside," Bucky points to the stacks of paint buckets and pieces of wood that clutter the larger driveway toward where the parking lot sits to the side of the house, next to a shed covered in overgrown vegetation.

"I'd rather have those muffins again," Clint winks before picking up two buckets, muscles of his arms bunching beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Bucky whistles mentally. Well, Clint did say he still practices archery out back, near the tree line down the hill.

"I'll make them again," he smirks, before he bends to lift one of the other cans.

He finds himself putting it right back down, because that thing is a lot heavier than it looks. Clint's laughter is full, but not mean. Instead, it's teasing and making Bucky's insides squirm pleasantly, so he sits on the bucket until Clint returns.

"Lift it now, why don't you," he throws, sticking his tongue out, but Clint's still laughing lightly.

"You really wanna do this," he says.

Bucky shrugs, throwing his hands in the air.

And then his ass in the air, too, because Clint bends too fast for Bucky to react, then throws Bucky over his shoulder. Thankfully, Bucky swallows his surprised yelp. Clint's a little shorter than him, this shouldn't be possible. But then he's being deposited on the stairs of the porch and Bucky has to cover his face because his cheeks are burning.

"Yeah, I earned those muffins now," Clint throws over his shoulder as he walks away, amusement lighting up his eyes, their glint violet in the midday sun.

Laughter shakes Bucky all day, and yes, he does bake muffins again, and a pie, and a loaf of bread.

~

"So do you have any siblings?" Clint asks as they find themselves again in the back yard, watching the colors of the sky shift at the east while the sun sets somewhere behind them.

It's been a week and Bucky never wants to leave.

"A sister," Bucky returns. "She lives with mom back home. I guess my best friend, Steve, is like a brother, too."

Clint nods at that. "I lost touch with mine for a while after mom died, but now we're emailing. Guess my friend Nat's like your friend Steve."

"A brother?" Bucky snickers.

"You laugh, but that woman could throw both of us over her shoulder and carry us a mile before breaking a sweat."

Bucky whistles low.

"She's a firefighter," Clint adds.

"Steve works with me at the coffee shop, but he's still waiting for that big break as a painter," Bucky returns. "Actually, I'm out here 'cos he just got married, so I got out of their way for a couple of weeks."

There's a shadow passing over Clint's face, and the bottom of Bucky's stomach sinks. A lump sticks in his throat, stopping any words that might come out of his mouth.

Next to him, Clint shifts, leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

"When I first saw this place, I fell immediately in love with it. 's even called Hawk's, that had to be a sign, right?"

Bucky nods numbly and Clint intertwines his fingers, eyes focused on his hands.

"I was driving by with my boyfriend at the time, then we stopped a few miles down the road, where it goes around that hill top right before it opens into the highway, you must've seen it coming in."

Bucky finds himself nodding again, and Clint nods along.

"He asked me to marry him there, then left me at the altar. At the fucking--" Clint draws a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Bucky rasps.

"I'm not," Clint grimaces. "He was an asshole and I chose to ignore it because I was too lonely. That's the best fucking thing he did. And buying this house is the best I did."

Bucky's hand shifts of its own accord to clutch at Clint's shoulder, and Clint covers it with one of his own. His fingers are calloused over Bucky's skin, but warm even in the light breeze around them, and Bucky shudders.

"It's still nasty," Clint continues, "to be rejected like that, but well. Life. We move on and move forward. Right?" he asks, looking at Bucky with those eyes of his, something in them that roots Bucky to the spot, draws him in like a slow caress.

He finds himself nodding again, swallowing, and Clint's gaze follows the motion, making Bucky's heart flutter behind his ribs.

A sharp ringing startles them both.

"Aw, phone," Clint mutters before he raises from the chair and walks inside the kitchen to answer his land line.

Bucky draws air, slowly and carefully, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. What the hell is he doing. He should tell Clint, before anything else happens, but apprehension fills him suddenly. Maybe Clint will react badly, throw Bucky out, and Bucky doesn't want that. He really really doesn't.

So he sneaks off to bed before Clint returns.

~

He twists all night, barely able to sleep, but in the end he ambles down to the kitchen with the dawn. He's filling a mug with coffee when Clint walks in. There's a beat as Bucky stands there, waiting for... what, he has no idea.

But then Clint walks over, snatches the mug in Bucky's hand with a mumble, then sits down at the table as if they've been doing this for years.

Oh. Oh, hell. Bucky's so screwed.

"Egh, there's no sugar in this," Clint grimaces after a gulp.

"Doesn't need it," Bucky quips, chest swarming with something utterly pleasant, "you're sweet enough."

Clint blinks at him, eyebrows raised. Ok, maybe that was too bold, and Bucky opens his mouth to take it back. Clint smiles though, wide and bright, making all the tension drain out of Bucky, and he leans into the counter behind him.

"Pumpkin pie," Clint says, so out of left field, that Bucky does a double take.

"What?"

"Can you make it?"

Can he... Bucky snorts. "Bet your ass I can."

Clint grins over the rim of his mug. "I want some."

"Pumpkin season's months away," Bucky returns, confused.

All Clint says is a quiet "yeah," after he sips again, more carefully this time.

That thing in his chest is hope, he realizes.

Bucky can't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

The evening is almost the same, out back in the yard, swapping stories of childhood. Only this time Clint's hand catches onto Bucky's where they dangle off the arm rests, and Bucky clutches back.

Slow. It's slow, and Clint doesn't seem to rush, so Bucky won't either. This is good. The night air is warm as he inhales, head back, watching the stars. Very good.

~

Two days later, Clint's telling Bucky about how the front garden will look when he's done with it. The mid morning air is streaked with sunlight under the shifting shadows cast by the willow trees where they're crouched over the bulbs Clint planted there.

A car approaches down the road, stopping in front of the gate, and they both raise to their feet, watch as someone climbs out then walks through the gate.

It's Brock. It's fucking him, and Bucky's knees almost give out. He hasn't seen the bastard in years. He shouldn't be here, tainting this place.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Clint spits.

Shit. Shit, Bucky's forgotten. He's forgotten about the ring and the letter and everything...

"Well you know, when I found out that the retard I hired rented out your tux," he tells Clint, "and that the retard that got it used this," he lifts the watch in demonstration, the same watch Bucky exchanged for information at the shop, "to find out about you, I couldn't believe my ears, so I had to come down here to see it for myself. And look at you two idiots!" Brock finishes, laughing in a way that grates on Bucky's nerves. "Apparently you left your fucking ring in the pocket! And this asshole came to find you," he waves at Bucky.

No, this is the worst. The fucking worst. He looks at Clint, and Clint closes his eyes, jaw tight.

"Clint--" Bucky starts, the word painful as it leaves his lungs with a forced exhale.

"Get out," Clint grits. "Get the fuck out!"

Bucky doesn't know how he manages to put one foot in front of the other, or where he's going, but he's going. He's walking.

Something hurts inside his bones bad enough to sting behind his eyes, but he moves forward, air thinner and thinner around himself.

~

Bucky presses his forehead against his knees again, inhaling and exhaling. He has no idea where he is, trees around him, so he should go, find a phone, call Steve. If only his body will listen.

He's angry at himself, angry at Brock, but too wrung out to stop the shaking in his limbs. Just when he'd thought... the bastard had to come in and ruin everything. He pushes back on the helpless feeling that's threatening to overcome him. Bucky's not the same person from back then. He's grown, gotten past it. Yet, it still affects him this much, because... because... he really likes Clint. Loves this place already.

And now it feels like it's all been taken away from him. Bucky can't even begin to understand how he's going to get himself out of this mess. But he's going to try, if it kills him. Right now, though, he breathes, in a useless attempt to calm himself.

"Hey," comes from the side before feet stop next to Bucky.

Clint is here, and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, hugs his arms tighter around himself.

"Bucky? Hey," Clint says, too gentle, too nice, before his fingers brush the top of Bucky's head, "you ok?"

He doesn't deserve this, Clint sounds too worried, so Bucky raises his head. "I'm fine," he manages, but he still can't look at Clint. It's too soon, he doesn't know what to say, and the lump that eats his words is back in his throat.

"You don't look fine," Clint returns with a sigh before he settles in next to Bucky against the tree there.

He's sitting close, almost pressed against Bucky's side, radiating warmth to the shivering in Bucky's bones.

"I thought I threw that stupid ring away," Clint says with a huff.

Bucky swallows, but it turns into a ball of hurt that travels painfully down to his chest.

"You found the letter, too?" Clint asks.

All Bucky can do is nod.

"Did you know it was the same Brock?"

A head shake.

Silence settles between them for long moments that stretch over and over. Bucky keeps his eyes firmly ahead, but the trees are already unfocused.

"Ok, this is gonna sound bad," Clint finally says, "but I need you to listen and let me finish before you say anything."

Bucky isn't sure he can even speak right now. He nods, he can do this for Clint.

"All right, good," Clint exhales loudly through his nose. "I couldn't place you at first, because your hair is long now, but when you told me about being dumped before the wedding, I recognized you. Seen you in Brock's old photos."

Bucky stills. What.

"Back when we were together, he told me you broke his heart, but then he turned out to be an ass, and you weren't lying, so..." He stops then, draws air. "I should've said something, but I didn't want you to go."

What.

"I don't want you to go," Clint says again, words quiet against the rustling of the leaves, but unmistakable.

Bucky turns then, looks at Clint. His face is open, sunlight falling on half, shadow on the other, tinting one eye violet and one eye green.

"I came here to tell you that it gets better," he rasps, the tightness of his throat traveling down to wrap itself around his ribs, pleasantly this time. "I don't wanna leave."

The corners of Clint's mouth raise slowly with the beginning of a smile and Bucky finds himself matching it. Clint shifts closer, wraps his hand around Bucky's knee.

"Then stay," he says.

And Bucky swallows the words right off his lips.

~

"It's been five years, when will you put a ring on it?" Sam asks before he shoves another forkful of cake in his mouth.

It's his and Steve's anniversary and Bucky always bakes something for them. They're all gathered in the back yard, the house devoid of guests for two whole weeks this time of year. This is their time, when Steve and Sam come down for a vacation, Nat, Clint's friend, joins them an entire week bringing a guest from her company sometimes, mom and Becka drive down for the weekend, and so does Clint's brother when his job allows. Since two years back Tony and Pepper have been closing down shop for three days to join them as well. There's always a chaotic week of overlap, friends and family, before they all go back, before Bucky has Clint to himself.

Tonight it's Steve, Sam, Nat, and her captain, a large guy named Thor at the table, who's as versed in the works of Shakespeare as he is in working out. Turns out he's an actor, but ended up a firefighter when he'd needed a job.

Sam's comment is not the first, nor will it be the last, and Bucky sneaks a glance at Clint, who shrugs.

"We're already married," Clint says.

Everyone turns to look at them.

"What?" Steve asks from across the table, brow furrowing in that particular way it does when he's trying to make sense of things.

"For four years, eleven months, two weeks, and... what?" Clint turns to Bucky, "five days?"

Bucky tilts his head. "Sounds about right."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Nat asks.

"We didn't wanna jinx it," Clint grins.

Everyone's talking at the same time, questions are asked, some of them answered, and Bucky leans back, catching Clint's hand under the table.

That day, after Clint asked him to stay, after Bucky said he will, they drove straight to city hall. No rings, no tuxes, no tears, but just the two of them. Simple and untainted.

Ahead, in the distance, fireworks light up the horizon. It's the same day he met Clint, five years ago. In nine more, it will be their fifth year here, in this place that's theirs now.

Their home.

~End~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback welcome. :)


End file.
